


At times a smile comes floating by

by RedShoesAtTheDrugstore (JoyceSummers)



Category: Deutschland 83
Genre: Childhood Memories, Funeral, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyceSummers/pseuds/RedShoesAtTheDrugstore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yvonne Edel looking back at the childhood with her father Wolfgang. </p><p>"At times a smile comes floating by, for us<br/>intended, a blissful happy smile, lightly<br/>expended upon this blind and breathless game."</p><p>(Rainer Maria Rilke, "The Merry-Go-Round")</p>
            </blockquote>





	At times a smile comes floating by

Sitting at the front row of the church, Yvonne felt as she was not really there. This funeral had nothing to do with her. There was a casket, adorned with the most beautiful lilies, and mourners, but apart from the fact that she was sitting at the first bench she didn't really feel any different from the times she had sung at a funeral or followed an old, distant relative to the grave. Where was the unbearable grief she should feel? When would this begin to feel different from the army paying the last honour towards any highly decorated officer? She had played her part anyway, of course, looking solemnly sad as she let the music from the pipe organ wash over her.

Oh yes. Playing their parts. That was what they did, both Alex and Yvonne. The proper daughter and the son following in his father's footsteps, sitting where they should, dressed as they should, acting the way they should. They had dressed together in the spare room at Renate's place. After working himself up to the point of throwing the kind of tantrum she had stopped taking notice of long before they finished primary school, over whether to wear his uniform or attend the funeral as a civilian, Alex had settled on the uniform. "Father always wanted a little tin soldier," he'd said, his voice hoarse after yelling at no one in particular. "A steadfast tin soldier and a dainty paper ballerina," Yvonne had replied. Suddenly, as their eyes met, both had started laughing hysterically before breaking down in tears. "He got himself a steadfast child and a dainty child," Alex had sobbed. Yvonne had finished the comment for dryly: "Just not in the order he had wanted."

Now she was sitting here. Their mother at her left, her brother at her right, her father in the casket. The organ music toned out, the vicar greeted the congregation with dusty old words. Yvonne’s mind wandered. A rustle of paper made her aware that it was time to sing a hymn. As the whole congregation started singing "So Nimm Denn Meine Hände", Alex reached for her hand, weaving her fingers and his together. His dainty hand under her long fingers. She could feel her eyes sting a little. When had they last held hands like this? The stable contact between them carried the resonance of shared moments through the years. It used to be their secret language. In the backseat of the car when they had been told to shut up and sit quietly, during too long dinners when visiting the grandparents, at the edge of yet another playground in yet another town the army had sent their father to ... So many memories were coming back to her as his cool hand accepted a little warmth from hers. When life was too boring to stand, or too unpredictable, they had reached for each other: The steadfast and the dainty, all calmness on the outside, hearts ablaze on the inside.

The vicar was talking again, but in Yvonne's head another voice telling another story was drowning the biblical attempts at comfort.

_You must attend to the commencement of this story, for when we get to the end we shall know more than we do now about a very wicked hobgoblin; he was one of the very worst, for he was a real demon. One day, when he was in a merry mood, he made a looking-glass which had the power of making everything good or beautiful that was reflected in it almost shrink to nothing, while everything that was worthless and bad looked increased in size and worse than ever._

One winter, the family had rented a cabin in the mountains for a week. Every night, after brushing their teeth and putting on pyjamas, Alex and Yvonne had curled up on a blanket in front of the open fire while their father read one part of H. C. Andersen's "The Snow Queen". After that, he had given each of them a light kiss on the head and shooed them to bed. The memory carried a scent of glühwein and a faint hint of marzipan. As soon as their mother had said goodnight, tucked them in, turned off the lights and closed the door, Alex would sneak out of his covers and tiptoe over to her bed. There they would lie, fingers intertwined, discussing Gerda's search for Kay. Would she find him? Could she thaw his frozen heart? What if she couldn't? What if Gerda did find Kay, only to find out that he didn't want to come back? That was the end of the story they both dreaded. They knew, of course, that fairy tales largely ended well, but they were not at all sure. A heart is big, after all. If it's all frozen, you must hold it in your hand for an awfully long time to make it warm. Yvonne stroked Alexander's thumb unwittingly as she thought of how he had whispered out his fear into the darkness the very last night they shared the dark room with the big beds. "Sometimes I think the world is ugly," he had said, a vague trace of tears in his voice, "do you think I will disappear in the cold?" "Little brother," she had answered, her voice filled with steadfast resolve, "if you are Kay, I will be Gerda. I will always find you."

When the vicar started the memorial speech about the deceased, Yvonne could hear the voices of his colleagues shine through. "General Edel was an officer held in high regard among his colleagues. Over the years, his good judgment, steadfastness and trust in his peers earned him well-deserved respect." She couldn't bear listening to the vicar waxing lyrical about the feted officer. Instead she let her mind wander, resting her gaze at the stained glass windows of the church.

A crusader sat on a dappled horse, his standard held high. The horse reminded Yvonne of a carousel horse, all poised and ready to perform. She remembered how, on an autumn day as crisp and sweet as freshly picked apples, their parents had surprised them with a trip to an amusement park. As they had made their way through the park, Alex and Yvonne daring each other to try the fastest, highest and scariest attractions they were tall enough to try, they had walked past a beautiful, old-fashioned carousel. She had slowed down a little there, looking wistfully at it before quickening her step to catch up with her younger brother. Father had stopped her, though, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You will be an adult for a long time," he had said to her. "Enjoy being a child, now. If you want to ride the carousel, I shall wait for you." The carousel had been so pretty, with dappled horses, gilded swings, brown bears and a few white elephants with elaborate saddles. Hauling herself up on one of the elephants, she had heard her father recite a line from one of his favourite poems: "Und dann und wann ein weißer Elefant". Somehow she had thought he sounded both sad and happy at the same time.

After the sermon, their mother had chosen to honour her husband by having a pianist play one of the pieces he loved the most. When the pianist lifted his hands to start playing the part of Grieg's Sonata in E Minor that they all knew so well, Yvonne took a deep breath and moved her fingertips slightly closer to Alex' palm. Suddenly, her fourteenth birthday was so close. Her father had picked her up directly after school, she could still hear the warmth in his voice as he said: "Hello, Birthday Girl", are you ready to choose your present?" Then they had gone to the record store in the town near the military base where they had lived for just a few months. Her birthday gift had been a record of her own choosing. "It will probably be some modern rubbish," he had sighed, "but it is your birthday and your rubbish. Take your time. I am looking for something for mother and me as well." At first, she had been a little dizzy, overwhelmed by all the possibilities. Walking around aimlessly for a few minutes, she suddenly knew exactly what she wanted. Daring to exchange few words with the somewhat intimidating woman behind the counter was all it took; in a moment she held what would soon be her very first LP in her hands. She imagined that she could feel the grooves in the vinyl through the album jacket. Her father came over. He, too, had found something he wanted and was ready to pay. All the way home she had been giddy with anticipation, looking forward to placing the LP on the record player and listen to at least one side right away. On top of her light mood, her father had entertained her with funny stories of how Frau Netz had put a new officer thoroughly in his place with her sharp tongue. In the intimacy of the car, he had proved able to do quite the impersonation of her. In Yvonne’s memory, that trip in the car was endless giggling and a deep happiness.

Coming home, she danced into the living room and put the record on. Swirling around the room on bare feet, she sang along to "Killing Me Softly", disappearing into the music until her mother came and told her that the table was set and the dinner ready. Stopping the record player ever so gently, she eased the precious record into its sleeve and carefully put it on the shelf alongside the many piano records. Dancing on, she gave her father a quick hug and her mother a kiss on the cheek before sitting down next to Alex who was deep into a retelling of a story he had read in school.

When they had finished their dessert and she and Alex had cleared the table together, the doorbell rang. Alex had darted off, opening the door while the sound was still hanging in the air. Yvonne could hear him talking happily in the hall before heading into the living room.

\- Father, Mother, I am going out with some boys from my class. When do you want me home?

\- On Yvonne's birthday? Their father's question had a dark undertone.

\- I don't have to stay long, it's just ...

\- In our family we stay together on birthdays, Alexander! There was absolutely no room for debate. The decision was final. Alex' footsteps were slow and quiet on his way to the door, and Yvonne could barely hear him as he told his new friends he had to stay in. As he came back through the hall, Yvonne had walked towards him. She had seen his eyes glittering a little. His jaw had been clenched. Reaching out for him, her fingers barely had barely brushed against the back of his hand for a second before he'd withdrawn his hand and silently gone into the living room again. It was as if a little light had gone out.

Feeling Alex hand sneak out from under hers, Yvonne became aware that it was time for prayers. Politely, she folded her hands and bent her head. A discreet sideways gaze told her that Alex, too, sat politely still without moving his lips. An unruly lock of hair touched his temple. She fought the urge to stroke it back in place.

An evening when they were both teens, they had been home alone while their father and mother went to see an opera. Taking turns playing songs to each other as they draped themselves over the sofa, danced barefoot on the carpet or sang playful duets when even Alex knew the lyrics, they had nipped over to the drinks cabinet between the songs stealing a tiny bit of this and a wee bit of that. Feeling more than just a little tipsy, Yvonne had put on the last track of that much-loved record, declaring that "Suzanne" was the best song in the world. Alex had looked sceptical. "It is weird", he'd said. "Why would Jesus spend a long time watching from a lonely wooden tower, anyway?" "To look for weird kids," Yvonne had retorted, "like you." At that, Alex had punched her a little, and suddenly a mock fight had exploded on the floor. "Stop," Yvonne had panted, "the room is spinning like a carousel." Feeling overwhelmingly tired and realising that they really could not be found sleeping in the living room, she had reached for his hand as she told him they had to go upstairs. He hadn't taken it, but had shuffled upstairs, following her to her room. Without turning on the light she had sat down on her bed, back leaned against the headboard, arms around her knees. Alex had crept into the big reading chair by the window. His position had been a mirror image of hers. For a while, they had just been sitting there. Yvonne had been wondering if the room spun as much around Alex as around her.

Suddenly, she had giggled a little. "You know Dirk," she had said into the darkness, thinking of the pretty face of a boy in the class over hers, "I think I am in love with him." "Me too," she had thought she heard Alex whisper before he'd abruptly gotten up, fumbled a little for the door and staggered across the hall to the bathroom. The assorted liquors they had drunk had gotten the better of him. Listening to his helpless retching, Yvonne had pulled herself together, made the room stop spinning, gotten up and gone to him. Kneeling down to support him, she had stroked his hair, the hair their father insisted had gotten too long, away from his face. "Come on, little brother," she had said softly, "I think it is bedtime."

The end of the service was drawing near. Focusing on the flowers adorning the casket, she felt herself becoming aware of the time and place again. Without planning to do so, she turned towards Alexander and whispered, ever so softly in his ear: "Remember that I will always be the Gerda to your Kay. He stiffened for a second, and then let himself go. Leaning his head on her shoulder and pressing his fingers against hers, he let out a shaky whisper. Then he stood up and walked towards the casket with the other pallbearers, ready to shoulder his burden.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing in English, which is not native language, for a German series, feels somewhat strange. Since I am not a native speaker of German either, and most of the fandom needs subtitles for German anyway, I suppose writing in English makes sense.  
> "The Snow Queen" by H. C. Andersen can be read in full here: http://hca.gilead.org.il/snow_que.html  
> The title is a line from the English translation of Rainer Maria Rilke's poem "Das Karussell". The poem can be read in German here: http://rainer-maria-rilke.de/080061karussel.html or in English in "Rainer Maria Rilke: Selected Poems" (https://books.google.no/books?id=3wGCCRmGxYkC&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false).


End file.
